9.15.2010
Out of Our Tree
Because what is the point of being three years old if you can't spend a glorious Saturday morning climbing a tree in your pajamas?
With your Patti-the-Platypus Beanie Baby, of course.
9.14.2010
Fly Me To The Moon
Today is my cousin's wedding anniversary. I didn't remember it until she asked me if I had any pictures; for some reason I have been thinking her anniversary was in April all this time -- I must have been conflating her birthday and my anniversary and jumbling them up for the last eight years.
Also, in my own defense, I was kind of tanked at her reception. Not drunk and disorderly, not exactly, but I don't remember much except that one of my former co-horts from my high school swim team was a bartender that day, and she was making me all kinds of fancy delicious drinks that came with maraschino cherries and whose names ended in "-tini," and there was a big ol' wheel of brie cheese baked in puff pastry, and the food was good. Damn good. And apparently I had a rough time in the ladies' room, and had to get an assist. (That part I don't remember, but I've had anecdotal evidence since.)
I wish I could say these pictures brought back memories, but unfortunately they don't. That's the trouble with a good bartender, I suppose. You look at pictures of that special day when you're a decade removed from it and you're all, "The HELL?" I still have the dress I wore, though. Doesn't fit any more -- was too small, now it's too big, and either way it was never particularly in style anyway -- but I still have it.
Still have the husband, though. That one's a keeper. Even though it appears on this particular occasion that he did not consent to coordinating his tie to my outfit. The bastard.
I always dance with my Daddy at weddings when we're both in attendance, even now that we're both basically old people. It's like a rule, dating back to middle school or so, when I danced with him to "Angel" by Aerosmith when one of his siblings got married. Don't ask me who, because I don't remember that, either.
It would be almost three years later when these two crazy kids would up and get hitched. That was another kick-ass wedding. But boy oh boy, are they kids here. My sister can't be older than 25 here, if she was even that old (if I did the math correctly, I was 28, basically a baby myself still).
... Anyway, I kind of lost the plot here. (Go figure.) One of the things that I DO remember about Tina & Sam's wedding was their first dance: "Fly Me To The Moon," by Frank Sinatra. It was something really, really, once-in-a-lifetime special. It's such a great song to begin with, one of my all-time favorites, and on top of it all, they did a fancy little choreographed ballroom dance number, and it was SPECTACULAR. The whole room filled to overflowing with joy, and for a few short minutes nothing in the world existed but those two, and the music, and their love, and it was nothing short of awesome. Really and truly.
All of this is a long way of saying: Happy Anniversary, you guys. I hope you continue to be as happy now as you were then, and I hope you always are. You're awesome, and your family is awesome, and even though I ate my weight in maraschino cherries that day and therefore don't remember everything quite as clearly as maybe I should (although I assure you, I tipped the bartender well), I am glad I got to be part of that day, and that I still get to be part of your lives, even if it's across the miles over coaxial cable.
In other words: I love you.
Also, in my own defense, I was kind of tanked at her reception. Not drunk and disorderly, not exactly, but I don't remember much except that one of my former co-horts from my high school swim team was a bartender that day, and she was making me all kinds of fancy delicious drinks that came with maraschino cherries and whose names ended in "-tini," and there was a big ol' wheel of brie cheese baked in puff pastry, and the food was good. Damn good. And apparently I had a rough time in the ladies' room, and had to get an assist. (That part I don't remember, but I've had anecdotal evidence since.)
I wish I could say these pictures brought back memories, but unfortunately they don't. That's the trouble with a good bartender, I suppose. You look at pictures of that special day when you're a decade removed from it and you're all, "The HELL?" I still have the dress I wore, though. Doesn't fit any more -- was too small, now it's too big, and either way it was never particularly in style anyway -- but I still have it.
Still have the husband, though. That one's a keeper. Even though it appears on this particular occasion that he did not consent to coordinating his tie to my outfit. The bastard.
I always dance with my Daddy at weddings when we're both in attendance, even now that we're both basically old people. It's like a rule, dating back to middle school or so, when I danced with him to "Angel" by Aerosmith when one of his siblings got married. Don't ask me who, because I don't remember that, either.
It would be almost three years later when these two crazy kids would up and get hitched. That was another kick-ass wedding. But boy oh boy, are they kids here. My sister can't be older than 25 here, if she was even that old (if I did the math correctly, I was 28, basically a baby myself still).
... Anyway, I kind of lost the plot here. (Go figure.) One of the things that I DO remember about Tina & Sam's wedding was their first dance: "Fly Me To The Moon," by Frank Sinatra. It was something really, really, once-in-a-lifetime special. It's such a great song to begin with, one of my all-time favorites, and on top of it all, they did a fancy little choreographed ballroom dance number, and it was SPECTACULAR. The whole room filled to overflowing with joy, and for a few short minutes nothing in the world existed but those two, and the music, and their love, and it was nothing short of awesome. Really and truly.
All of this is a long way of saying: Happy Anniversary, you guys. I hope you continue to be as happy now as you were then, and I hope you always are. You're awesome, and your family is awesome, and even though I ate my weight in maraschino cherries that day and therefore don't remember everything quite as clearly as maybe I should (although I assure you, I tipped the bartender well), I am glad I got to be part of that day, and that I still get to be part of your lives, even if it's across the miles over coaxial cable.
In other words: I love you.
9.13.2010
Islands in the Stream
When I look back at pictures of my kid from this summer, a few thoughts make themselves particularly loud in my brain.
This kid was made for the pool. I don't know if she's ever going to be a competitive swimmer, another Janet Evans or Dara Torres or Michael Phelps or Mark Spitz, but this is a kid who will always be at her very best when she is in the water. Her signature fragrance, for all of her life, will always contain a hint of chlorine. Eau de l'eau, if you will.
I am very excited to get her into swimming lessons this fall and winter -- maybe more than she is, even -- because by this time next year, she will be swimming by herself. She really, really wants to swim on her own, and I think that watching her learn to do that, to finally ditch the bubble for good and just go, will be tremendously satisfying.
Better call the Y and find out if I will be allowed to observe lessons, and if they'll let me take pictures. If not, I better learn pretty quick how to get good pictures without a flash. Because I have confidence that she'll be able to swim a full lap by Christmas, and when she does, I want to be able to capture every stroke. This might be a bigger deal to me than her first steps.
Whenever we start looking for a new house -- which won't be any time soon, but then again it might not be too long, since she starts kindergarten in just two years -- we'd better look for a place with a pool. Perhaps on a nice tropical island somewhere, where we can swim all year long.
Which reminds me, I'd better play the lottery this week.
This kid was made for the pool. I don't know if she's ever going to be a competitive swimmer, another Janet Evans or Dara Torres or Michael Phelps or Mark Spitz, but this is a kid who will always be at her very best when she is in the water. Her signature fragrance, for all of her life, will always contain a hint of chlorine. Eau de l'eau, if you will.
I am very excited to get her into swimming lessons this fall and winter -- maybe more than she is, even -- because by this time next year, she will be swimming by herself. She really, really wants to swim on her own, and I think that watching her learn to do that, to finally ditch the bubble for good and just go, will be tremendously satisfying.
Better call the Y and find out if I will be allowed to observe lessons, and if they'll let me take pictures. If not, I better learn pretty quick how to get good pictures without a flash. Because I have confidence that she'll be able to swim a full lap by Christmas, and when she does, I want to be able to capture every stroke. This might be a bigger deal to me than her first steps.
Whenever we start looking for a new house -- which won't be any time soon, but then again it might not be too long, since she starts kindergarten in just two years -- we'd better look for a place with a pool. Perhaps on a nice tropical island somewhere, where we can swim all year long.
Which reminds me, I'd better play the lottery this week.
9.11.2010
Spent
I've been quiet the last few days, and I'm sorry, but it's been a big roller coaster and I just can't process everything. It's too much, too overwhelming. I really try not to be a whiner, and I really try not to use this blog as free therapy, but sometimes you need a brain dump, you know? And this is one of those times.
The Good News:
My husband finally found a job. After 17 months and a huge deal of wondering and worrying and kind of aimless wandering in the wilderness, and I don't even know how many interviews at I don't even know how many places, he finally found a job. He starts on the 27th. I am happy for him, and excited, but more than anything, I am relieved. We've made do on his unemployment and my paycheck, and we've been as smart and as frugal as we could so we haven't been hurting as much as so many other people have been, so the money was never really the issue. But already I can sense a change in my husband, a subtle and slight regaining of his confidence, and I glad he's getting his groove back, so to speak. I think the job is a restart for him, a basically entry-level job in his field, especially considering his experience, but I also think it's going to be a great opportunity for him, and he's going to be getting out of the house again, which is more fantastic than I can possibly tell you.
The Bad News:
Somebody stole the bistro table and chairs off our front porch overnight. I have absolutely zero idea why anybody would want it -- it's just some cheap little metal set from Wal-Mart that we got ten years ago -- but sometime between my last cigarette yesterday and my first cigarette this morning, someone took our stuff. All things considered, it's no big deal; nobody was hurt, nothing major was taken, nobody broke into our house or keyed our cars or anything like that. It's more of an annoyance than anything else, and I felt like a major tool having to call the police first thing in the morning. The cops were here before it was even fully light out. It's just -- somebody stole our stuff, you know? I would have sold it for next to nothing.
The Worse News:
We were at my parents' for a yard sale today (made $50 selling my kid's outgrown clothes, whoo!) and while we were there my uncle wandered off. My great-uncle, actually, my grandfather's sister's husband. He's 81 and has Alzheimer's, and he's staying at my parents' with his daughter while his wife, my great-aunt, is in the hospital under psychiatric evaluation. Her diagnosis is Lewy body dementia, which I've never head of before now, and I am not sure about the prognosis but I am not sure it's good. Anyway, sometime around lunchtime, my uncle went out for a walk and ... never came back. He was gone for more than hour, and we had four people out looking for him at one point. We called the police and they found him one township and about 5 miles away. Thankfully some nice lady saw him wandering around, lost and confused, and she brought him inside and gave him water and called the police herself. Apparently he decided that he was going to walk to the hospital to visit his wife. God bless his heart. I can't imagine how upsetting all of this must be for both of them. My husband's grandfather was right: getting old ain't for sissies.
The Worst News Of All:
The closed my grandparents' pool today, and we were not expecting it. We thought we had until next weekend. We packed our suits and everything, and were planning to go swimming this afternoon after the yard sale was over. I didn't even get to stick my feet in the water one last time. All day I was feeling this weird, vague sadness about the whole thing, and I just now realized why it bothers me so much: we might not get to go in that pool again. Ever again. I've been swimming in that pool for like 25 years, and last weekend might have been the last time I got a chance to do that. My grandparents are getting older every day, and their health is getting worse, and every time I see them, it might be for the last time. Probably I shouldn't say that, but the facts are what they are. They are old, and they are ill, and there is no way to know how much time they have left. I am not prepared for this, for what this means. I don't have many pictures of Shae with my grandparents, and we forgot the camera today. What if next weekend ... I don't want to think about it, and I know I have to, and I just can't. Right now I have pictures in my photostream that are ready to be posted, and I don't want to put them up, because I can't bear the thought that those could be the last pictures of my daughter in that pool. It's not just the pool, of course, but that is the only concrete thing I can wrap my head around. The pool might not be opened next summer, because. Because. Because of things that are entirely possible but just too horrible to think about. And now, after only a couple of nights of really relaxed sleep in 17 months (see: "The Good News"), I am going to go back to not sleeping at all again, and I am just so tired. I am an hour away, I only see my family for one day on the weekends, it already makes me crazy because I feel like there is more that needs to be done and I just can't do it, and I feel so guilty all the time, and ... I just can't. I'm exhausted. I'm spent. And tomorrow it will start all over again.
The Good News:
My husband finally found a job. After 17 months and a huge deal of wondering and worrying and kind of aimless wandering in the wilderness, and I don't even know how many interviews at I don't even know how many places, he finally found a job. He starts on the 27th. I am happy for him, and excited, but more than anything, I am relieved. We've made do on his unemployment and my paycheck, and we've been as smart and as frugal as we could so we haven't been hurting as much as so many other people have been, so the money was never really the issue. But already I can sense a change in my husband, a subtle and slight regaining of his confidence, and I glad he's getting his groove back, so to speak. I think the job is a restart for him, a basically entry-level job in his field, especially considering his experience, but I also think it's going to be a great opportunity for him, and he's going to be getting out of the house again, which is more fantastic than I can possibly tell you.
The Bad News:
Somebody stole the bistro table and chairs off our front porch overnight. I have absolutely zero idea why anybody would want it -- it's just some cheap little metal set from Wal-Mart that we got ten years ago -- but sometime between my last cigarette yesterday and my first cigarette this morning, someone took our stuff. All things considered, it's no big deal; nobody was hurt, nothing major was taken, nobody broke into our house or keyed our cars or anything like that. It's more of an annoyance than anything else, and I felt like a major tool having to call the police first thing in the morning. The cops were here before it was even fully light out. It's just -- somebody stole our stuff, you know? I would have sold it for next to nothing.
The Worse News:
We were at my parents' for a yard sale today (made $50 selling my kid's outgrown clothes, whoo!) and while we were there my uncle wandered off. My great-uncle, actually, my grandfather's sister's husband. He's 81 and has Alzheimer's, and he's staying at my parents' with his daughter while his wife, my great-aunt, is in the hospital under psychiatric evaluation. Her diagnosis is Lewy body dementia, which I've never head of before now, and I am not sure about the prognosis but I am not sure it's good. Anyway, sometime around lunchtime, my uncle went out for a walk and ... never came back. He was gone for more than hour, and we had four people out looking for him at one point. We called the police and they found him one township and about 5 miles away. Thankfully some nice lady saw him wandering around, lost and confused, and she brought him inside and gave him water and called the police herself. Apparently he decided that he was going to walk to the hospital to visit his wife. God bless his heart. I can't imagine how upsetting all of this must be for both of them. My husband's grandfather was right: getting old ain't for sissies.
The Worst News Of All:
The closed my grandparents' pool today, and we were not expecting it. We thought we had until next weekend. We packed our suits and everything, and were planning to go swimming this afternoon after the yard sale was over. I didn't even get to stick my feet in the water one last time. All day I was feeling this weird, vague sadness about the whole thing, and I just now realized why it bothers me so much: we might not get to go in that pool again. Ever again. I've been swimming in that pool for like 25 years, and last weekend might have been the last time I got a chance to do that. My grandparents are getting older every day, and their health is getting worse, and every time I see them, it might be for the last time. Probably I shouldn't say that, but the facts are what they are. They are old, and they are ill, and there is no way to know how much time they have left. I am not prepared for this, for what this means. I don't have many pictures of Shae with my grandparents, and we forgot the camera today. What if next weekend ... I don't want to think about it, and I know I have to, and I just can't. Right now I have pictures in my photostream that are ready to be posted, and I don't want to put them up, because I can't bear the thought that those could be the last pictures of my daughter in that pool. It's not just the pool, of course, but that is the only concrete thing I can wrap my head around. The pool might not be opened next summer, because. Because. Because of things that are entirely possible but just too horrible to think about. And now, after only a couple of nights of really relaxed sleep in 17 months (see: "The Good News"), I am going to go back to not sleeping at all again, and I am just so tired. I am an hour away, I only see my family for one day on the weekends, it already makes me crazy because I feel like there is more that needs to be done and I just can't do it, and I feel so guilty all the time, and ... I just can't. I'm exhausted. I'm spent. And tomorrow it will start all over again.
9.09.2010
All Points Bulletin
We interrupt our coverage of the last few pool-noodle-infused days of summer to bring you this urgent back-to-school-time bulletin.
Who is this mysterious young woman, and what has she done with my baby girl? Bring her back, or I'm selling her stuff.
Also: PUMPKINS? Already? I am not ready for the fall, not entirely -- although I have plans for this autumn that I better get working on. But still. I see pumpkins and I think of delicious, delicious pie and then I start feeling cold and old down to my bones and I just can't deal with it, okay?
Who is this mysterious young woman, and what has she done with my baby girl? Bring her back, or I'm selling her stuff.
Also: PUMPKINS? Already? I am not ready for the fall, not entirely -- although I have plans for this autumn that I better get working on. But still. I see pumpkins and I think of delicious, delicious pie and then I start feeling cold and old down to my bones and I just can't deal with it, okay?
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